


Dangerous Phases

by Vrunka



Series: The Moon and the Ocean [1]
Category: overwatch
Genre: Anal Sex, Knotting, M/M, Mild Gore, Oral Sex, There is a ridiculous amount of sex in this thing, werewolf mccree - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:38:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8500873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: There are eight phases in a moon cycle. Eight phases in thirty days. And then it repeats. Over and over. Hanzo Shimada never really saw a reason to care. The moon comes, the moon goes. Hanzo Shimada also never really saw himself getting into an explicit sexual relationship with a werewolf. But well...these things do happen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Old school werewolf rules here, peeps. I didn't come here for that cutesy furry ears and tail jazz.

Phase 1: Waxing Gibbous

It isn't fair to say that Hanzo is jealous of how everyone in Overwatch seems to know more about McCree's moon-cycles than he does. But he is, really, more than just a little bit jealous.

There's Mercy of course. Doctor Ziegler is on hand for every one of McCree's monthly shifts. And Zenyatta. And Genji. To help him with feeling out of place in his skin. To help him find inner peace. His zen center.

Lena and her big English breakfasts for the fourth morning, when McCree is haggard and tired from three nights of shifting. Lucio and his Tranquility Playlist.

And here Hanzo is.

And all he know is three nights out of the month, McCree disappears from their bed. Three nights out of the month McCree is locked up in the med bay. Completely absent. For seventy-two hours.

"You're frownin', sweetheart," McCree says, arms crossed on the table in the cafeteria. Leaning forward just a little bit, head cocked. Nostrils flaring.

An unconscious thing, but Hanzo has gotten used to it.

The week of the waxing moon, McCree tends to get...odd. More animalistic. Lots of pent up energy. The sex in the few days leading up to McCree's monthly disappearance, is wild and rough. McCree on those nights, those days, is nigh insatiable.

"This is just my face," Hanzo says back, shaking his head. "I am thinking."

"'Bout what?"

Hanzo leans his head back. Studies the ceiling of the mess hall. Licks his lips and breathes. There is a bruise on his neck, perfect shape of McCree's teeth, all slotted in a row. It still hurts. A little thing, beating along with his heart.

On his left side, of course. An accident, McCree had claimed, smiling. The lying bastard.

Hanzo, out of pure spite, has worn his uniform pulled over both shoulders. The material covering the mark.

"You will be gone tonight?" Hanzo asks. Leveling McCree's stare with a look. Still frowning. He knows what he is. His nature to remain stern.

"You gonna miss me?"

The question must be rhetorical. Hanzo doesn't answer. He answered enough last night, gasping McCree's name like a prayer. Cumming dry for the fourth time, hips stuttering and pleasure so keen it hurt more than comforted.

"And you must go at it alone?"

McCree flushes. Looks away.

The only time Hanzo has ever seen him embarrassed and ashamed is when they talk about his shifting. Hanzo knows, without asking, that it didn't used to be the procedural thing it has become.

But people got hurt.

McCree hurt them.

So now, it has become this. Locked away three nights a month.

"It ain't like I'm good company these nights, darlin', really. Angie keeps me pretty doped."

"Maybe I could just..." Hanzo doesn't really know what he's asking for. He has figured out, pieced together, how dangerous McCree can be shifted.

Things Genji has said mostly. Passing comments about the visible bite marks left on Hanzo's skin.

Nice defined teeth.

Bruises on his legs. McCree driving into him, Hanzo's leg thrown over his shoulder so he can press deeper, fuck into him all the more thoroughly. McCree's teeth breaking the skin of his shin, bearing down against his own pleasure.

Dangerous edges.

"During the day at least that is," Hanzo continues. He folds his hands together, for want of anything better to do with them.

Will not reach across the table to hold McCree's hand the way he so wants to. Too stubborn for his own good, sometimes.

"Perhaps I could. Just...come and see you."

McCree makes a face. Ashamed. He's ashamed. It fits so unnaturally on his features. "It really isn't safe, Hanzo."

Hanzo feels himself stiffen. Muscles in his shoulders and back contracting. Hands sliding off the table and into his own lap.

It really isn't safe.

"Genji visits you, though. Zenyatta."

They aren't human, not fully. Hanzo knows instinctually this is the answer McCree will give. But he's jealous and he's hurt and the wound of McCree willing to spend time with them over him is a nagging, constant thing.

"They're...different." McCree says. "Hanzo, please, don't do this. I don't wanna fight like this, okay? Not...right now." He looks down at the table. Shakes his head. The brim of his hat hides his eyes.

Hanzo should feel ashamed as well; does, deep in him.

Too stubborn though.

McCree sighs. Like he was waiting for an apology, an acquiescence. Something Hanzo cannot give.

McCree looks up, so earnest. Open. Wounded.

"I'm sorry." McCree says.

Hanzo relents. It wasn't an apology he was looking for. McCree is usually better at reading him.

"Tell me what it is like," Hanzo says. "If you are so insistent I cannot be there. At least. At least tell me about it."

"Which parts?"

"All of it. What happened before. What it feels like. Three months we have been," Hanzo swallows.

The question of what they are is a dangerous line as well.

"Together," McCree says, nodding, catching the way Hanzo stalls.

"Together. And I know you disappear. I know you hurt someone, once. Maybe more than once."

McCree licks his lips. His arm, the mechanical one, twitches slightly.

"It was only once," McCree says. "It was a long time ago," McCree says. "It's hard to remember everything," McCree says.

"And still you will not tell me."

Cruel of him.

Hanzo too has a past, secrets and things he would rather not divulge. Rather never think about again. Burdens and regrets.

He needs only look at Genji to remember them.

To ask McCree to share, to demand it, is unfair.

As unfair as the jealousy he feels.

Petulant indulgences.

McCree growls, deep in his throat. Hanzo can see how McCree controls it, the restraint over his annoyance that on a normal day means nothing at all. But here, during the waxing moon cycle, his temper is a volatile thing. A cliff-face. A waterfall.

A rushing, headlong end.

Hanzo has pushed hard enough. He should stop.

He should apologize.

He does the next best thing. Reaches across the table to squeeze McCree's human fingers between his own.

McCree shudders once; sharply.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

Hanzo shakes his head. "Does it hurt?"

"Being apart from you does."

"I am being serious."

McCree smiles, tangles his fingers with Hanzo's. "Ain't so bad. I'm sorry, Hanzo, but I'd die if you got hurt."

Overdramatic.

Hanzo doesn't smile. There is no joke in it. McCree is being absolutely serious.

"The first night," McCree says, mechanical hand clasping Hanzo's wrist. Fingering the skin of Hanzo's pinkie. "First night's the worst. It does hurt...like...like breakin' a bone."

Hanzo has never broken a bone. Exceedingly lucky. Pampered. He does not volunteer this. McCree is scarred and dented and crooked all over.

"Then I meditate," McCree continues. "Sometimes with Zenyatta, sometimes with Genji. I'm not...without the moon, I can. Can control it. Somewhat."

"Control?"

"The shift. The...urges."

Hanzo blinks. Slow. Still meeting McCree's gaze. McCree's mechanical fingers twitch against him. Would be threatening if McCree were anyone else. If Hanzo were.

"So you meditate."

"And try to contain the voice telling me I should eat your brother."

Hanzo's eyebrows raise.

"Don't tell me you didn't realize that much, sugar? The whole...ripping people to pieces with my fangs thing." McCree's voice is more a rumble on the word then human speech. Starkly painted.

Ripping.

"Even without the moon?"

McCree nods. "Just cuz she ain't here, she's still full somewhere in the world. I can still feel her, in my blood. And if you were there. Hanzo, I don't...I don't like to think about you during my..."

"You have thought about me though?"

McCree nods again. Eyes sweeping down and away. Brown and endless and sad. Little whirls of green and grey in them now, this close to the change.

"What do you think about me?"

McCree whines, shivers like he could press out of his skin. Rippling almost. Ripping.

A dangerous, dangerous edge to test.

McCree shakes his head, bites his lip. Head bowing toward his chest, chin burrowing into his serape. "Shouldn't talk about it right now. It's too," McCree licks his lips. Raises his eyes to meet Hanzo's gaze. "Too close right now. I don't wanna break..."

"Shall I get the doctor?"

It's early still. Barely four.

The sun isn't even up yet.

McCree shakes his head. "Tranquilizers don't do much the first night anyway. Second night they help. Knock me out some. Second night is smoother."

"And the third?"

"Third's the..." McCree looks away. "Third's the hardest. First is the most painful, the shifting, the changes, the physical toll. Third though."

Hanzo rolls his hand on McCree's. Runs his fingers over McCree's metal ones. Traces the delicate joints. "What happens?"

"Sort of like a comedown. First two nights, I'll get snippets. Remember fleeting things. Same with the days, all sorta run together. But the third night. I...I always...the shift isn't so, so violent."

McCree looks away. Hiding something.

Hanzo will not push it.

He has squeezes McCree's hand. Strokes McCree's cheek with his free fingers. Knuckles grazing under McCree's eyes.

Jealous still.

Sulking still.

"I will miss you," Hanzo says.

Three days and three nights.

McCree kisses the skin of his palm. Teeth scraping lightly against his calloused flesh.

Dangerous.

Dangerous.

Phase 2: Waning Crescent

"Are you all right?" Hanzo asks.

They are supposed to be sparring. McCree is sitting on the mat, sweat-drenched t-shirt sticking to the muscles of his back. The perfect curve of it. Parabolic angles. He is panting. He has left his hat in the locker room, his hair halos around his head in messy, choppy wave.

McCree swallows down a breath, shoots Hanzo a smile. All the more ridiculous the way his teeth catch on the edge of it. Wolffish, predatory.

"Fine, sugar. Just wasn't expectin' that blow is all."

McCree is holding his stomach.

He is not usually easily bested, he and Hanzo do not generally pull their punches.

Hanzo frowns.

"I should have..."Hanzo starts. Lowering his hand to grasp McCree's wrist. To help McCree up. McCree's bulk a surprisingly dead weight against him. "Are you sure you are all right?"

McCree nods, shakes his head. A dizzying, conflicting motion.

"Just a little more tired than I thought. We can keep going."

"We do not have to. You shouldn't push yourself." Hanzo says. "Practice is important, but there is no use in over exerting."

"I can think of a more fun way to exert ourselves, darlin'," McCree says with a wink.

Hanzo holds his gaze and McCree falters. Looks away. Abashed. Slight pink blush across his cheeks.

"Again then," McCree says. Stepping back to his side of the mat. Pulling his shirt off.

He's doing it for the reaction. Hanzo watches the interplay of McCree's muscles with feigned disinterest. The swell of his pecs, the slightly softened lines of his abs. Toned obliques though. And hair hair hair.

McCree rolls his shoulders. Nods.

"Come on, Hanzo."

Hanzo slips off his own shirt. Lets it fall to the floor at his feet. McCree is grinning at him, wide and smug and full of teeth.

"Don't pull 'em," McCree says, like he had been reading Hanzo's earlier thoughts. "I'll be fine. Gimme everythin' ya got, darlin'."

Hanzo makes the first move. Comes at McCree at a run. Feints to the right when McCree turns to block him. His shoulder clips against McCree's chest, but his wrist is caught in McCree's mechanical hand, too slow. Hanzo twists out of the grip, McCree follows. Damp body hair and heat.

A distracting scent.

Not just McCree's usual spar-sweat smell. Deeper somehow, more earthy, musky.

Hanzo backpedals. McCree's fist catches him in the ribs, a solid smack that has Hanzo grunting. Hanzo drops, kicking his leg out to tangle it in McCree's.

He overbalances.

They both go down.

McCree is still panting, smiling, when his back hits the mat. Hands on Hanzo's hips.

Not as graceful as their matches usually go.

"Are you okay?" Hanzo asks again. He tries to get up, weight on his knees on either side of McCree's waist, but McCree holds him fast.

Straddling.

McCree's fingers on his sweatpants, tracing the waistband. McCree smiling through the sweat in his eyes.

"With a view like this, sweetheart, I'm perfect."

"McCree."

McCree blinks. Smoothes the flat of his palms over Hanzo's hips one final time before letting go.

It's the middle of the day.

They're in the middle of the gym.

This is really not the time for this.

But McCree makes a face, pouting little frown, and Hanzo feels slightly bad for his reprimand. He braces his hands above McCree's belly button. Digs his fingertips into the thick mat of hair there. Drags them up and up and up, over McCree's pecs, over McCree's throat, tangles them in the soft hair under McCree's jaw, thumbs stroking the hair on McCree's chin.

McCree whines into the grip, eyes sliding closed. Pressing up at every point of contact. Touch-starved.

"Is this a moon-thing too?" Hanzo asks.

Three months, going on four, and he's never seen McCree like this before. And that's just the time they've been...doing whatever it is they are doing.

Lovers is the easiest term.

But it sits poorly on Hanzo's tongue.

He has a wretched history with showing his love. He's not even sure that is what this is.

Possession, maybe.

Infatuation.

A dangerous space within Hanzo's own mind.

McCree half nods, can't move his head very far from where Hanzo has his fingers still anchored in his hair. Hanzo untangles one hand, rubs his knuckles through McCree's bangs.

Almost like petting a dog.

The thought is so strange and foreign it makes Hanzo smile. Just a little bit. Corners of his lips curling.

McCree opens his eyes.

Deep and brown.

"I just wanna," McCree reaches up to touch Hanzo's neck. Fingers against the fading bruise there. His left side.

"Your touchin' feels good, nice."

Hanzo raises an eyebrow. "This is hardly the place for this."

"Well shit, I tried to seduce you back to my room like a good an proper gentleman."

Hanzo smiles again, mild. He can't help it. "Is that what that line was? You being a proper gentleman."

"Keep makin' fun of me, Hanzo, and I'll take it back," McCree says. He is joking. His fingers are dry and warm on Hanzo's neck. McCree is a furnace. The hair on his chin and neck is soft and wet. Hanzo leans down, kisses next to where his fingers are still buried in that hair.

McCree's throat bobs against his lips. Keening little breaths. Desperate. Over sensitive. "Thought this--nngh, God--thought this wasn't the place."

That scent again.

Stronger here. Pheromones or something, perhaps.

Odd, regardless.

"You smell," Hanzo says. Nosing through the hair, up McCree's jaw to his ear.

"We been workin' out, you ain't exactly a rose yerself, Hanzo."

He stands up. McCree makes only a small noise of protest at the motion.

"This the part where you ask me to join ya in the shower?"

There is a mission, the facility is quiet today.

Hanzo had only seen a handful of people at breakfast.

Still, it's dangerous. Runs the risk of discovery. They may not be keeping their togetherness under complete wraps, but there is a difference between having an extremely sexual relationship with a co-agent and flaunting it.

Dangerous, dangerous.

Hanzo offers McCree a hand up for the second time. Doesn't pull away when McCree crowds into his space. Pressing tightly against him.

"Are you sure?"

"That I wanna suck your dick in the shower? Yeah I'm pretty sure."

Hanzo flushes at the words. An incredibly sexual relationship, but McCree's outspoken licentiousness still takes Hanzo by surprise sometimes.

"I meant that you are okay. You are acting strange." Hanzo licks his lips, hand on McCree's stomach. He can feel the contraction of McCree's abs with every breath. The muscles under the skin and fat like steel.

McCree looks away.

"I just wanna be close to you is all," McCree says, "right now."

It's not really an answer.

There is still another half a month before McCree's next sequestered turn.

"I do not mind," Hanzo says. Mostly because McCree is looking very, very much like a kicked puppy. All hunched shoulders and downcast eyes.

Sad lost little creature in a gangly cowboy body.

McCree perks up, leans closer. Lips brushing Hanzo's temple. Nose in Hanzo's hair. Metal hand bracing on Hanzo's hip.

Like the sadness had never been there at all. 

Hanzo huffs a sigh, turns toward the showers. McCree on his heels. Hanzo twists his discarded shirt between his hands.

It's different and strange, the way McCree is acting. But Hanzo isn't really complaining.

One more tick mark in the list of quirks that seem to make up McCree.

Hanzo tries to remember what he's read about wolves, wolf social behavior, as he strips down in the locker room. Comes up decidedly short.

McCree doesn't help with the way he plasters himself to Hanzo's back as Hanzo gets the spray going. His cock already half-hard, nudging against the swell of Hanzo's ass. His teeth scraping against the bite left earlier, just once, lightly, before he kisses it.

Hanzo brings his hand to McCree's hair, pushes his bangs back off of his face.

McCree's eyes are brown, his gaze a soft, endless thing.

Hanzo shivers, though it isn't cold.

Something about this, about McCree, is different. Is off.

"You're thinkin' too hard," McCree says, turning his eyes from Hanzo's gaze to speak into Hanzo's shoulder. Lips dry against his tattooed skin.

He walks them into the shower spray proper. Mechanical hand on Hanzo's chest, cradling a pec. Human hand on Hanzo's hip.

The water is hot and soothing. Hanzo melts back against McCree, boneless.

He is thinking too much.

And the blind pleasure McCree's presence and bearing is promising is too tempting to resist.

Hanzo rolls his head, offering McCree that marked spot again. The water rolling down his neck, his chest. McCree's chest hair sticking to his back with it.

McCree's metal fingers are a stark contrast to the heat of the shower. Slightly warm from leeched body heat, but decidedly cooler than the water. McCree pinches Hanzo's nipple between his fingers and Hanzo shudders.

Uses the grip he has in McCree's hair to drag McCree's mouth against his. Sloppy and open, too much tongue. But lazy somehow still.

Hanzo's pleasure is like a molten thing within him. Stirring at the base of his spine, but not as frantic as usual. McCree's rolling his hips, but it's a slow rhythm. Seems more about feeling good than getting off.

Hanzo is not used to this treatment. This softness.

Lovers.

Is that what this is?

"Wait," Hanzo says.

And McCree whines, high in his throat, but he does. Hips shifting away from Hanzo's, fingers lifting off his nipple, pebbled and red from the attention.

Hanzo turns around. Tilts his head to meet McCree's searching gaze. The water from the shower plastering McCree's bangs to his forehead, dripping from his beard.

"What's the matter?" McCree asks.

Hanzo knows so little about him. Charmed into bed after a few good missions, too much sake and darlin' sweetheart baby-talk. It was supposed to be a distraction.

Hanzo leans back against the wall of the shower cubicle, McCree follows.

Waiting still.

Hands hovering, but respecting Hanzo's space.

Hanzo brushes his fingers through McCree's drenched hair, grips the back of his head. Thumbs tracing the rounded shell of McCree's ears.

"Do y'wanna talk?" McCree asks. Lips this close to Hanzo's and he thinks to ask it now. "You're all up in your head."

Hanzo closes his eyes. Sighs.

"Is this a moon-thing?"

"This?" McCree asks, hands touching Hanzo's hips, squeezing down just a little bit.

Hanzo rolls his head against the shower wall. "Us."

"That what's got you all spooked? Nah, baby doll. It ain't the wolf picked you out, I like you all for me."

Hanzo blushes. Stupid lines, stupid McCree. No one else could convey such sincerity saying something so dumb and sappy. His cock flushed and red and curling up toward his belly.

"Then make me believe it," Hanzo says, pushing away from the wall. The grip he has anchored in McCree's hair keeping McCree from pulling away from him.

McCree's mouth soft and plaint beneath his own. Giving. More lip than teeth or tongue. Hanzo spreads his legs so McCree can slot a thigh between them. McCree's knee pressing up against his balls.

It hurts, a little bit. Just a little bit too much pressure. Too tight. But Hanzo grinds down against it, chasing that edge he's become so used to.

That danger.

"Baby," McCree says, pulling back just slightly for air. Hand on Hanzo's wrist. "There's no rush. Lemme take my time with you."

But McCree is dropping to his knees, even as he says it. Teeth against Hanzo's hip, dragging across his belly, Hanzo doesn't fight it. Hanzo lets him have his way, stifles his noises with the back of his hand.

McCree sucks cock like he was born to. Far too practiced to have not had past experiences. Hanzo is jealous of the thought.

He fucks McCree's face and closes his eyes and hopes the sound of the running shower blocks out the sloppy wet sounds of McCree gagging him down.

The humming, abject pleasure McCree seems to get from having Hanzo's dick in his mouth.

Like he loves it.

It's hard not to believe him.

McCree laves the flat of his tongue against the crown. There is spit on his chin, precome. Hanzo groans, rolls his hips appreciatively and McCree goes with it, takes him deeper.

Tight, wet suction at the head.

"Jesse...I'm," Hanzo tugs of McCree's beard. McCree's eyes on his, crinkling at the corners. He'd be smiling, if his mouth weren't full. He makes no move to pull away. But then again, Hanzo didn't really expect him to.

Debauched.

Filthy.

Hanzo comes in McCree's throat as McCree swallows around him. Hanzo covers McCree's eyes as he does it.

Can't stand the softness he sees there.

McCree only coughs a little as he slips off Hanzo's dick. One, two quick successions against his fist. Slobber and slick all in his beard. He wipes at it, half-heartedly.

Grinning.

He's still hard between his own thighs.

Hanzo wonders if he'll ask for a hand. It's not that Hanzo minds. McCree has a great cock, thick and red and long. Too damn big for McCree's ego, honestly.

Hanzo likes touching it. Licking it.

Getting fucked by it.

But he won't ask.

Too damn stubborn.

McCree takes himself in hand, leans forward to bite at the skin of Hanzo's hip again. Scraping the metal of his free hand against the knitting skin on Hanzo's shin.

He makes quick work of it. More than just a show, how worked up giving Hanzo a blow job must have had him.

McCree comes in messy arcs across the shower floor.

Hanzo watches. Passive. Only a little disappointed. The soft curve of McCree's back, the muscles of his shoulders. Hanzo touches McCree's hair.

McCree is grinning still.

"Let's get cleaned up, huh?" McCree asks.

They make it work. Elbows bumping. McCree washes Hanzo's back. Kisses Hanzo's neck the whole time. Nibbles at the place he has already marked.

Possessive.

Infatuation.

Dangerous echoes.

Lovers.

That's what this is.

Phase 3: New Moon

Hanzo is reading when it happens.

Three days after their shower escapade and the soft details have not left Hanzo's mind. McCree has not offered any insight into the situation. Barely even seems to notice the slight changes between them.

Not even changes in their sex. They haven't even really done anything since the incident. A few lazy morning kisses, sleeping spooned.

But it's in the little things.

McCree pressing his leg against Hanzo's at meetings. McCree brushing his shoulder as they pass in the hall. McCree tangling their ankles under the table in the cafeteria. McCree holding his hand when they walk together.

Casual touches.

Staking little claims.

Hanzo is reading on the third night, when it starts to make more sense.

Outside his window, the night sky is cloudless and clear. Stars bright and cold and distant. Hanzo is no poet. The beauty of it means next to nothing to him.

McCree is already asleep.

The new moon tires him. Hanzo supposes it makes sense, with how restless he gets around the approaching full.

McCree makes a sound, a snuffle. He stretches further across the cot. It's barely big enough to support the two of them as it is. Standard issue fare made to fit one grown man, not two.

But McCree had been insistent they can make it work.

And so far they have.

Spending the night in one another's dorms for the past three months and no one has ever ended waking up on the floor. They're usually locked together like a puzzle in the morning, but McCree seems to find that funny.

Hanzo lowers the book he had been reading--pretending to read, if he's being perfectly honest; eyes scanning the same paragraph over and over, seeing nothing, too lost in his own thoughts--to glance at McCree again.

McCree's eyes are flickering restlessly beneath his lids. Hitched whimpering in his breaths. Muscles stiff.

Signs of distress.

Hanzo stands from the desk, letting the book fall closed. His place lost. But what does it matter?

He crosses the room, kneels in the space behind McCree's back. Leans down to kiss McCree's shoulder. Arm wrapped around McCree's chest.

McCree startles against him. One last, taut jump before he relaxes. His metal hand is still twitching.

"Are you all right?" Hanzo asks. Lips dragging against McCree's skin. His beard must tickle, but McCree doesn't complain.

He lets out a small shudder, human fingers tangling in Hanzo's hair.

"Are you here?" McCree asks.

Hanzo nods. Lowers himself further onto the bed, pressed shoulder to hip now, the arm he has thrown over McCree's chest squeezing McCree to him.

"I am here."

McCree sighs, rolls his head to look over his shoulder at Hanzo. Still so soft and open. Hanzo doesn't deserve him. Hanzo could never deserve this.

"Was havin' a real bad dream."

"I could tell," Hanzo says. He doesn't mean to sound cold but he does. In his nature. He bites his lip. "Will you tell me?"

McCree makes a face. Frowning. His expression just visible in the lamplight from the desk.

"You can tell me anything," Hanzo says. He's lying, his heart is a nervous flutter in his chest. He's afraid to hear some things.

McCree won't look at him. "I know," McCree says.

"But you will not tell me?"

"If I...I'm afraid you'll leave." Such bare honesty. Raw and pulpy between them. Scooped out, eviscerated. "I know, y'know, how fuckin' weird," McCree stresses the word, "this whole thing must be for you."

Hanzo wonders if McCree means the werewolf thing or the falling in love thing.

He will not ask.

It's still too personal, too new. They do not deal in these sorts of truths yet, too many secrets in their pasts for it.

"But if you saw what I was, what I am--"

"If you are going to give me the monster speech, Jesse, I would rather we skipped it." Hanzo swallows, presses his forehead against the back of McCree's neck. "We have discussed it. You do not frighten me. You do not control what you are."

McCree breathes against him. His chest hair is scratchy against Hanzo's bare arm.

"I killed a kid."

McCree says.

"A long time ago. But I killed him."

"What happened?" Hanzo asks. Mildly. He had expected something like this.

"I tore him apart."

"I meant--"

"I was stupid. Thought I could handle the shifts on my own. I slipped my own defenses. Guess we're lucky I only killed one person." McCree wiggles in Hanzo's grip, rolls over.

Face to face now. Hanzo can feel McCree judging his expression.

Not much to see.

Hanzo is neither scandalized or surprised.

"So now you let Mercy keep you."

"Angie does a good job. Keeps me hocked up on Thiothixene. When I'm...all wolfed out, my heart rate goes at about 175 a minute. You know how hard that is to accurately subdue without killin' me? Angie does a good job."

"But you do not eat her?"

"She don't come in when I'm turned. Or else I would."

"Like you would with me?"

McCree makes a sound, low in his throat. He noses forward, hair dragging across the sheet, pushed off his forehead. Hanzo accepts the way McCree nuzzles into his neck, presses a kiss to McCree's temple.

"Will you fuck me?" McCree asks.

Hanzo blinks.

All the ways they have indulged in one another, but they have never done it that way.

"I am not going anywhere," Hanzo says. He's trying to sound reassuring.

McCree whines into his throat. "That's not why I'm askin', Hanzo."

"I will do whatever you want me to."

"But do you want to?"

Hanzo hesitates for only a second. He wants to, it isn't a question of wanting to. "Yes," he says.

McCree rolls over, tugs Hanzo across him. Hanzo's chest against McCree's back.

"I will not be able to see your face," Hanzo says. Kissing across the back of McCree's neck.

"I don't matter. I can feel you better this way."

So McCree has done this before. It shouldn't be surprising but hurts all the same. Pin pricks of jealousy.

There's lube on the nightstand, an arms-length away. Hanzo grabs it. Slicks his fingers with a generous amount.

McCree pants and groans and swears as Hanzo preps him. Not quiet, not even for a second. As talkative and filthy as ever.

Demanding.

Hanzo twists his finger, pushes at an angle and McCree bucks back against him, violently. Whining into the sheets.

"There, yes. Fuck. God, yes, Hanzo."

Hanzo strokes against him twice more, for good measure. Trying to memorize the spot. McCree grits his teeth. Hanzo can practically hear them gnashing. An amazing thing, that Hanzo can hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat.

He leans across McCree as he removes his fingers. Hand brushing the latch for the nightstand when McCree sobs.

"Don't," he says, low, broken. "Please, Hanzo, please. I wanna feel you. Just...I trust..."

"Are you sure?"

McCree shudders, the muscles along his spine jumping in fits and starts. Fascinating to watch. McCree spreads his knees wider in the spread, arches his back further.

"Yes," he says, grunting. "Hnng, yes, yes, fuck. Please, Hanzo."

Irresponsible.

But Hanzo does it anyway. Dribbles a bit more lube over his cock before lining up. Pushing in.

McCree is a furnace on any given day. The inside of him is inhuman. Warmer than Hanzo can handle almost. Tight moist heat threatening to spill Hanzo early.

Hanzo bites down on McCree's shoulder, hard enough to bruise. McCree's left side, a matching set. The pair of them.

McCree takes dick as good as he gives, hips rolling back against Hanzo's in a constant wave. Shifting Hanzo deeper with each thrust. His voice a wrecked litany of curses, mangled cries of Hanzo's name.

More sensitive than Hanzo ever would have guessed.

Not that he's complaining.

McCree begging him--"fuck me harder, Hanzo, baby, please, you feel so big, Hanzo, gonna feel you for days, God, fuckin' please"--is addictive.

Hanzo squeezes McCree's hips, holds him still so he can drive in at the angle McCree had lost it over.

He knows the moment he's got it, McCree going still and silent under him for a second. McCree howling into the sheets a moment later, tossing his head, gasping for air. Hanzo does it again and again. Keeps his hips pressed deep, just moving in little pulses against McCree's prostate, circular little twitches.

"Ah fuck, Hanzo. Fuck. Nnng...shit. Hanz...oooh Christ."

McCree's hand is touching his own cock. Hanzo can feel the vibrations of his furious strokes. The way they have McCree shaking against him.

Hanzo bites his lip.

"I cannot hold out," he says, falling forward, still holding McCree's hips. Palms sweating, their skin slicking against each other. "Jesse," Hanzo pants, voice dragging low, pitches he has never heard from himself before. "Jesse, where...Where should--?"

He goes to pull out, pull back but McCree shakes his head. Desperate, moaning.

"No! Hanzo, no. Need. It's okay. It's okay. Just. You can...just come inside me, darlin'. Want you to."

The words are enough.

Hanzo spasms against him, burrowing as deep as he'll go. Gasping and sweating against the back of McCree's neck.

And Hanzo comes and comes.

He's barely aware of McCree coming undone under him. McCree's shuddering, shaking muscles. McCree collapsing beneath their combined weight.

Hanzo opens his eyes.

McCree has his head turned to the side. Dopey little smile on his face. Hanzo sits up, weight on his hands. His elbows shake.

That smell again, slightly sweeter than in the gym, but still there. Hanzo can still smell it on his skin. Marked like a brand.

McCree is looking at him, peeking out from beneath his lashes.

"Are you okay?" Hanzo asks. How many times can he ask that question in a week? How many different meanings can it have? Does McCree even understand the importance of it?

McCree nods. "M'okay. You runnin' out on me, Hanzo?"

Hanzo pauses. His softening cock slips free of McCree's ass.

A mess. Cum and sweat and lube.

McCree shudders at the feeling. Hanzo presses a slow kiss to McCree's cheek.

"I was not planning on leaving."

McCree seems to consider the words. Blinks. He isn't smiling. "I don't deserve this."

Hanzo shouldn't laugh.

He can't stop himself. Gasping against the skin of McCree's shoulder. Horrid, dry, hiccuping laughter.

Almost sobbing.

Such a dangerous thing.

Phase 4: First Quarter

"So what would you like to know?"

Not McCree asking.

It's Mercy. Arms crossed on her desk, frowning. "Frankly," she says, clipped and curt, "I am surprised you have not come to see me sooner."

She doesn't like him much. Hanzo gets it, he really does.

After all, he need only look at Genji.

"Just..." Hanzo twirls his hands in a helpless gesture. He is not sure either, why he hasn't come before. Why he is here now.

Nothing has changed. The four month mark has come and gone. The moon has begun to wax again. McCree and Hanzo still talk without talking; share the intimate silences of long lovers. They sleep together.

Sometimes they fuck.

Hanzo has not topped again. McCree has not asked it of him.

Neither have spoken about Hanzo's breakdown.

It's almost as if it didn't happen.

But it did.

McCree and he are horrible mirrors of one another. Twisted into believing the other is better. He had realized it, in that moment, bent over McCree's back with lube drying sticky and uncomfortable on his cock.

Hanzo has been silent for a long time. Mercy is watching him.

"That is..." Hanzo says, dragging himself back. "He does not want me to see his change. He is afraid." Hanzo pauses, his gaze flicks from his lap to Mercy's hands and back. "I think he thinks he will hurt me."

Mercy seems to soften somewhat at that. Balances her chin in her hand. "McCree...McCree doesn't want to hurt anyone," she says. "Even with how secure the facility is, he worries. And I do not blame him. Not really. Did he tell you about what happened?"

"With the little boy he killed?"

Mercy makes a face, squinting just slightly. "Is that how he told it?"

"He said he tore him apart. Ripped him to pieces."

Ripped.

The inhuman edge of it.

Mercy blinks. Tilts her head. Her expression is unreadable. "We have another week before the full moon," she says, "how is it treating him?"

She is changing the subject. Not as smooth as McCree or himself at the act of hiding something. Hanzo does not push the issue with her either. How can he?

"He is energetic."

She squints again, nose wrinkling just slightly. A tiny crack in her medically detached surface. "I assume you two are being safe."

Hanzo flushes. Nods.

Except for that one time, they have been. McCree is a stickler for it.

"I did not mean it like that," Hanzo says. "He spends a lot of time in the gym." Working it off. Their sparring is back to their usual speed. Brutal little skirmishes.

Mercy nods. "Why don't you come to the med-bay," she says, "on the second night?"

"What?"

She levels him with a look, flat, no nonsense. "In a week, the second night of the full moon. I expect to see you in the medical bay. Call it a prescription for peace of mind, if you will. You deserve to see what he becomes."

Deserve.

Such a tricky thing.

What Hanzo deserves.

"Is this not...breaking some confidentiality?" Hanzo asks.

Mercy crosses her hands in front of her again.

"And if it were? You came to see me in the first place, Mr. Shimada. Me talking to you about McCree at all is a breach of some standard of ethics." She sighs. Pinches the bridge of her nose. "But someone needs to care about that asshole."

Hanzo blinks, shoulders shifting downward. Shocked.

Mercy smiles at him. "You're the first person I have trusted with him, God knows why. But there it is. So the med-bay, Mr. Shimada, in a week. Around eight, if you do not mind."

"Okay," Hanzo hears himself agreeing.

In a week.

Only a week.

Phase 5: Full Moon

Hanzo collects himself.

He doesn't know why he did not expect this.

But even after everything McCree has said, it's still shocking.

McCree is a wolf.

Oversized, shaggy, quadrupedal beast. Jaws that could crush Hanzo's forearm easy. Teeth, slightly yellowed and blunt.

Made for ripping.

Hanzo stares in through the one-way glass as McCree stalks around the room he's locked in.

His fur is the same color as McCree's hair; dark brown with highlights of red throughout. Subtle variances. His left foreleg--Hanzo supposes that is what it would be called, McCree is a full on animal--is metal still.

"He didn't kill that child. Not exactly like he had said, at least," Mercy says. She is standing by the door back to the hallway. Arms crossed over her chest. Giving Hanzo his space. "He wasn't dead when we found McCree in the morning. Torn up, yes. Dying. But not dead. He was going feral. I don't think even the shift would have saved him but..."

Mercy looks down, holds her hand out in front of her. It's shaking, slightly.

In the room McCree circles and circles.

"McCree woke up, about the time we arrived. McCree...shot him...in the head. Before he could become..."

"The shifting can heal?"

"It can patch up most things. When he is in direct moonlight, I'm pretty sure even a bullet to the heart would not stop him."

"I thought you sedated him," Hanzo says, reaching out to touch the reinforced glass. Warmth from his fingertips fogging the surface.

In the room, McCree freezes in his pacing. Sniffs the air. Hanzo freezes too. Watching.

Both of them.

Waiting.

Hanzo dares to breathe, a shaky exhale between his teeth. The green-grey eyes of the wolf stare at him. Unnerving even though Hanzo knows he cannot be seen.

"Does he kn--"

Hanzo doesn't finish the sentence.

The wolf pounces.

Throws himself at the one way glass. He's the size of a person still; a giant wolf. The glass, even reinforced, shakes. The wolf howls.

Like death.

A mournful, gut-wrenching peal.

Hanzo has time to make out McCree's teeth, fangs, cruel things. Ropes of saliva on the glass. He is huge. He fills the whole viewing window.

Then Mercy is pulling Hanzo out of the room.

"What did you do?!" She says, pushing Hanzo back against the door once they are through it. She is smaller than him, slighter, but Hanzo is taken aback. He's never seen her so mad.

"I don't know. You told me he could not see me. You told me the room was soundproofed--"

"It is soundproofed. I have tested it, extensively." She is frowning. Still up in Hanzo's space. She seems to realize it, steps away.

Blushing just a little. "I am sorry," she says, "I did not mean to snap."

"It is late," Hanzo offers. A poor excuse but all he has.

"I don't know when he'll settle. To be honest, such a move should not have even been possible for him. Such a brute display of strength. I've got enough tranquilizers running through him to put down a baby elephant."

"Is he always like that?"

"Violent, you mean?"

Hanzo shakes his head. "Restless."

Mercy returns the head movement. "Not usually, no. He's agitated. Was yesterday too."

"And tomorrow?"

"Do not come back tomorrow."

"What is different about tomorrow?"

Mercy frowns hard. "I shouldn't tell you. I should never have let you come."

"Please." It is hard for him to say. Mercy seems to read the struggle on his face.

"He's worse. The third night. Not like a wolf, he like...half shifts? I guess that's the word I want. He's still a wolf, still looks like a wolf, but he's...third day he's always restless. Animalistic."

"That wasn't animalistic?"

"That was vicious; but not. He gets...rowdy. The third day...he gets..." She will not look at Hanzo. She doesn't need to. He gets it.

"Is he still dangerous?"

"I don't know?" She looks up. Fingers on her chin. "He prefers to remain locked up. I think he is infectious always. I do not know how it spreads, other than his bite. He will not test other methods and I do not blame him. But he must get...lustful for a reason, that third night so..."

Lustful.

It makes sense now.

McCree's muscles shifting like he could stretch out of his skin. So close to the full moon, thinking about fucking Hanzo.

Dangerous.

All would take is a little push too hard and then it's past the point of no return.

McCree would never forgive himself.

Makes sense he would hide all this.

Hanzo can still hear the wolf, when he closes his eyes. Banging around the ward. Howling.

It could almost be Hanzo's name.

Dangerously close to it.

Phase 6: Waning Gibbous

"I dreamt about you, I think," McCree says, murmuring sleepily against Hanzo's chest. Two nights after the full moon has passed.

McCree curls closer, sighs against Hanzo's skin.

Hanzo stares at the ceiling.

"Do you mean when you were..."

"Yeah," McCree breathes. "I usually don't remember much but I...remember you."

Hanzo licks his lips. The confession hangs heavy between them.

It is now.

Or it is never.

"It is because I came to see you. Merc--Doctor Ziegler. She..."

McCree lifts his head.

The moon is penny bright, silver and luminous. Waning but still close to full. 

McCree's eyes are dark.

"Why would you do that?"

"I'm still here, McCree. Nothing has changed."

McCree's expression breaks. "Everything has changed. Don't you..." McCree is angry. He pulls away.

In the moonlight everything is silver. Silver on his skin.

Hanzo has never seen McCree angry.

"I never wanted you to have to see that."

Hanzo shakes his head. "That is hardly fair."

"It wasn't your place!"

"I do not deserve to know?"

"No--err. I mean."

Hanzo stands. His clothes are at the foot of the bed.

"I didn't mean that." McCree says. "Please, Hanzo, don't run out on me."

Hanzo sighs. Pauses in slipping his shirt over his head. "Then what did you mean?"

"I don't like what I become. It isn't me."

"No, it is not. But I am still here because I know it is not. But I...I still deserved to know. I needed to."

"Why?"

Because someone has to care.

Hanzo will not say it. He shakes his head.

"I just...need you to trust me," Hanzo says.

"I do trust you."

"Then why are you afraid?"

"Cuz I don't...trust me. Not when I'm...I dreamed of you. Smelling you. Hearing your voice. It was like...tasting you."

McCree bites his lip.

His teeth are slightly yellow, same as the wolf. Too much coffee. Too many cigars. Too many nights spent out in the world without regular nightly hygiene.

"You could smell me?"

"I could smell me on you," McCree looks away. "You always smell like me. Will you come back to bed?"

Hanzo looks down at his feet. The pants he has pulled on ride low on his hips.

"I'm sorry, Hanzo. I should have considered how you felt."

Another apology Hanzo doesn't really want.

Hanzo closes his eyes and sighs.

"I am..." He begins. He looks up, meets McCree's gaze. Swallows. "I am sorry too. I should not have gone behind your back."

"I woulda never agreed to let you see me...and you're right. You have a right to know. We're...we're somethin' right?"

"A god awful mess. A pair of stubborn fools."

"I meant like..." McCree rolls his hand. Hanzo slips the sweatpants off.

"Together?"

McCree shrugs. "Lovers?"

Hanzo touches McCree's foot, squeezes lightly. "Mates."

McCree closes his eyes. Suppressing a whine. Hanzo smiles. He had been teasing. This was not a development he was fully prepared for.

"You like that?" Hanzo asks. Grinning still, shocked out of his stoicism.

McCree shakes his head. Blushing. He rubs a hand through his bangs, would be pulling the brim of his hat down if Hanzo let him wear it to bed. Hiding in playful shame.

"Darlin' I can't very well help what I like..."

"Is this like a daddy-kink?" Hanzo picked up that term from Genji, whispering behind his hand with a snicker while pointing at Soldier.

McCree turns an even brighter shade of red. Head between his palms.

"It ain't nice to tease," McCree says as Hanzo climbs over him. Knees on either side of McCree's hips.

"Shall I call you my alpha?" Hanzo continues, pitching his voice low. McCree is already starting to harden, whether it is the moon's doing on Hanzo's what does it really matter?

McCree is shamefully easy to work up.

McCree scoots the two of them back, bracing himself more against the headboard. Hanzo only has to lean down a little bit to kiss him.

Slow and measured.

"Shall I offer you my throat?" Hanzo asks, hand in McCree's hair. "Show you my submission."

McCree doesn't answer with words. A tonal stuttering note, hips shifting restlessly against Hanzo's ass. McCree's fingers, metal and flesh, like a vice on his thighs.

Dangerously easy.

Hanzo makes a show rolling his head, neck arched. He keeps his grip in McCree's hair as he lets McCree rub his lips down the stretch of it.

Controlling.

Submitting.

All the same really.

"You can mark me," Hanzo whispers. "Jesse."

McCree does just that. Dragging the cut of those off-white teeth across Hanzo's collar, tracing the definition of muscle and bone. He bites down and Hanzo jumps against him, hissing.

He does it again, right at the edge of Hanzo's tattoo and Hanzo can almost feel the dragons curling within him. A warm, distinct sensation.

McCree bites his nipples, light, teasing nibbles that have Hanzo bucking against him. McCree's cock sliding along the cleft of his ass just right. So perfect.

"Like this, Jesse." Hanzo grinds back against him. His fingers in McCree's hair keeping McCree pulled against his chest. "I want you just like this."

He is still prepped from earlier; McCree had been riding that strange place between full-moon high and waning exhaustion, a needy, clingy mess. Hanzo leans away enough to swipe up the lube from where it had been pushed to the side.

"Take me like this, Jesse."

McCree keens, eyes slipping shut. "Say it again," he whispers, lips against Hanzo's tit. Bruises already forming on the skin.

"Take me."

"I shouldn't."

"I want to feel you."

McCree meets his gaze, desperation in his eyes. Fingers slicked with lube, sliding sticky along Hanzo's hip, the dimples on his back, across his ass.

"Jesse. Please. I trust you."

It isn't about trust. Hanzo knows. They don't know how it spreads. Hanzo doesn't give a shit.

"Trust me, please." Hanzo bows his head, McCree's facial hair is scratchy against his lips. Raw. "Make me yours, Jesse. You can. I can take whatever you have to give."

McCree makes an inhuman sound at that. Something between a growl and a moan.

Dangerously animalistic.

His abs contract and he flips them. Hanzo on his back, McCree cradled between his thighs. McCree's metal hand on his lower back, keeping Hanzo's hips tilted up.

Dangerous, dangerous.

McCree bites him again, sucking another imprint of his teeth right next to Hanzo's peaked nipple.

His left one.

No accident.

McCree takes him. Hanzo tilts his head back into the bed spread, gasping against the stretch. Bearing down against the intrusion.

The burn is slightly more than if he had been re-fingered. But his body has taken McCree's cock once already today; the pain is bearable. Welcome even.

Takes the punch out of feeling so full.

He can feel McCree's pulse under his palm where it is pressed against McCree's throat. In McCree's cock where it is buried in him.

It's all almost too much. The sensation, even with the reapplication of slick, is overwhelming. Dryer than Hanzo had really been expecting. Flesh against flesh.

Together.

Lovers.

Mates.

McCree has begun to babble. Endearments and curses and coaxing against the sweaty skin of Hanzo's chest.

Possessive, rolling words.

"Move," Hanzo says, head still tilted back. Throat working over the word.

McCree does.

Neither of them last very long, surprising, given their first time tonight had not been all that long ago. The edge they should have built up melting between them.

Hanzo arches, cries, spills first, hand stroking himself to his own completion. A mess across his own stomach. McCree's dick pressed deep within him. Milking his prostate, cock-head catching that bundle of nerves over and over.

His body does the rest.

Hanzo watches, heavy-lidded, sated, as McCree rides his own end. Using Hanzo's body as he needs. Pumping and whining and nipping the flesh around Hanzo's neck.

They lay together after.

McCree's cock softening, Hanzo shivers at the feeling. Gaping emptiness. He clenches his muscles, tries to keep the slow drip of McCree's cum within him. It dribbles down his thighs, into the bedspread, regardless.

McCree uses his thumb to swipe it back up, push it back inside. Hanzo shivers again. The rough pad of McCree's finger over-stimulating against the puffy, sensitive rim of his ass.

"I like when you get talkative," McCree says, grinning. Licking a stripe down Hanzo's chest. Cleaning Hanzo's cum where it has splashed across his belly.

Hanzo sighs, nods.

"It was a nice change of pace."

McCree sucks at the skin of his hip, hums in approval. His thumb slipping through the mess between Hanzo's cheeks.

"Jesse."

"Sorry," McCree says. Not sorry. Lying bastard. His grins, pets his metal hand down Hanzo's stomach. "How do you feel?"

"Exhausted."

"I meant--"

"I do not think you're contagious. Not this way, at least. I would not have asked if I had thought you were."

"Okay."

Hanzo nods. "Okay."

Easy to say.

But he doesn't really know how true it is.

He touches McCree's metal hand, pushes it down against the swell of his stomach.

A dangerous line.

Hanzo swallows around the words he wants to say.

Still too truthful between them.

Neither of them are ready to hear it.

Phase 7: Full Moon; Seven Months

They are fucked.

Completely totally fucked.

Hanzo leans back against the shelled out wall. He can feel his dragons, singing for blood. Hunger.

He doesn't know where McCree is.

Hanzo touches a hand to his brow. Blood on his fingers.

He closes his eyes.

He listens.

Gunshots, off to the left. The ratatat of a rifle. Hanzo moves, crouched along the wall.

Hanzo wonders how the report will read. He wonders who will write it. Overwatch agents killed in ridiculous oversight.

There was only supposed to be a handful of Talon operatives. Misinformation is going to be the death of them.

Hanzo reaches the end of the hall, leans out to glance around the corner.

The source of the gunfire he had heard is lying on the ground. Arm ripped from his socket. Blood splashed in drying arcs across his face, in his sightless eyes.

The man is dead.

Hanzo crouches over the corpse. A radio on his belt. More of a walkie. Hardly useful. The gun is still gripped in the man's attached arm. Equally useless.

Hanzo touches the ragged flesh of the arm, the white gleam of bone within the awful red of muscle.

Ripped.

Hanzo stands.

Something slams into him from behind.

Hanzo twists, rolls with the foreign weight. He gets a foot pressed against his attackers belly, uses it to flip the man over him.

Generic black uniform.

The man's mask is askew, his eyes are wild. Terrified. Hanzo sits up, already nocking an arrow.

It takes the man in the throat.

Over as soon as it had begun.

Terrified.

Ripped.

The mission has gone far longer than expected. A day in, a day out. A handful of guards. They'd had plenty of time to work with. But the report had been wrong. Mission fucked from the get-go.

Hanzo turns toward where the attacker had come from.

A blood trail on the floor.

A droplet here, a droplet there. Nothing can hide from the dragon.

Hanzo pulls another arrow.

His heart is pounding. He can feel it in his throat.

Someone is screaming.

McCree should never been sent on a mission this close to the shift. Hanzo had objected to it. But it was only supposed to be a routine recon check.

And McCree had wanted to come.

Too pent up in headquarters when there is work to be done.

There is something in the hallway in front of Hanzo. Useless. Foreboding. Discarded. Twisted out of shape.

McCree's arm. Blood on the metal joints, rusty splashes against the silver accents. The skull on the elbow, dented, shredded.

Hanzo runs.

He is, of course, too late.

The room he enters was probably a barracks, once.

Now it is a bloodbath.

Talon agents, rent and sundered. No longer human shapes. Some are still alive, groaning weakly, moving.

McCree.

Standing in the center of the room.

Full wolf. Five nights on a mission that was supposed to be two. Too late now. An oversight, a stupid mistake. This never should have happened.

He looks up.

Blood on his muzzle.

A corpse at his feet.

Hanzo cannot move. McCree's eyes are green, fathomless. His pupils contracted points of darkness. Pinpoints.

Dangerous.

McCree snarls. Fangs. Blood. Ragged bits of flesh. He steps toward Hanzo, graceful, even three-legged. His gait unhampered by his missing appendage.

Hanzo raises the bow.

McCree stalks closer. Nostrils flaring. His head is the same level as Hanzo's chest.

Huge.

He is huge.

And it is past time to end this.

Hanzo draws the arrow back. His muscles straining. Shaking.

Looking down the arrow. Like looking down at Genji, all those years ago. Genji's blood on Hanzo's sword.

A surge of useless, terrible guilt.

He had loved Genji, even then. Loves McCree, even now.

He cannot do this.

Not again.

McCree isn't seven feet from him, an easy distance. A killing blow.

And Hanzo can't.

McCree is growling, low in his throat. A warning rumble. Spittle dripping from his teeth.

The bow clatters to the floor.

McCree pounces.

So be it. Hanzo closes his eyes, collapsing under McCree's bulk. Suffocating fur, thick against his lips. McCree's teeth, blunt pressure against his throat.

He will die here.

So be it.

He waits for the pain, the tearing, bleeding end of it.

It never comes.

McCree is still growling, jaws around Hanzo's neck. Hanzo lifts a hand, shaking. It sinks into the fur on McCree's side. Sticky blood against Hanzo's palm. McCree's snarl increases in pitch, high and whining.

Hanzo breathes.

The claws on McCree's front foreleg digs against Hanzo's chest. Four long furrows in his flesh.

"McCree," Hanzo says. Closing his eyes again, too close to really see anything past McCree's brown fur anyway. "Jesse."

The wolf makes another sound. Useless, grating growl. Rolling broken noise.

"Jesse. It's okay."

The fur under his hands is shivering. McCree's weight lessening, unbearable pressure on Hanzo's chest easing somewhat. The jaws releasing around him.

Hanzo head slams back against the floor.

McCree the wolf is staring at him. Ears still cocked back in warning. Lips pulled back from his teeth still.

Hanzo touches his throat. Indents in the skin. McCree snarls again.

Dangerous.

A threat.

Hanzo touches McCree's muzzle. Slow. Gentle. Dealing with a wild animal. Something dangerous.

"Jesse," he says again. "Come back to me," he says. "Jesse," he says. "I love you."

The wolf howls, baying.

Hanzo flinches and the wolf flees. Throws himself off of Hanzo and runs, tail between his legs.

Hanzo sits up, touches his neck again. The fang marks in his flesh. He stands. A man in the center of the room is groaning, sobbing. Hanzo sets about the dirty business of cleaning up the men McCree had not finished off.

An arrow for each one.

No time or need for respects. Hanzo pulls his last arrow free.

Somewhere in the night, the wolf is howling.

Hanzo doesn't know why, but this time, it doesn't sound so lonely.

\---

Hanzo is stiff and exhausted.

A night spent in an air duct can do that to a person.

He lets himself down in a bathroom on the second day of the full moon. Drinks water straight from the tap.

He needs to find the comm room. Somewhere with a real radio. Overwatch needs to be contacted.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror. Pinpoint bruises on his neck. Another, larger one on his collar. McCree in the shitty hotel room, fucking off his excess energy. Both of them pretending they weren't as nervous as they were.

Fucking oversights.

Hanzo fingers his arrows. In his arm, he can feel the dragons, constricting, coiling. Gut feelings.

The hallway is empty. Hanzo follows it to a dead end. Curses under his breath.

Their Intel had been wrong about so much. Not just the layout and location of the facility but the entire thing. Not just some outpost of ten men.

Many, many more than that.

Hanzo had listened to their screams all night. He had tried to keep tabs on McCree's location, the bodies and the wails of the dying had made it easy enough.

Hanzo turns, heads back down the hall the way he had come.

He isn't surprised when he runs, literally, into McCree. Rounding a blind corner, smacking against McCree's bare back.

Hanzo is pretty sure they are the only two still alive.

McCree is naked.

That doesn't really surprise him either.

"Jesse," he says. Quietly. Carefully.

McCree's head hangs between his shoulders. His skin is pale. One-armed. Hanzo wishes he had grabbed it last night. McCree looks so wrong without it. Hatless, too. Lost somewhere in that jarring first shift.

"We shouldn't have come," McCree says. Swaying on his feet. He looks drugged. Pupils blown too wide.

Hanzo shakes his head. "No, we shouldn't have." He reaches out, palm up, as non-threatening as he knows how to be.

McCree flinches away from the touch.

Sweat on his collarbone. His neck. Droplets in his chest hair, like little beads.

"You shouldn't--I don't have much..."

The wolf had not eaten him last night. Granted, Hanzo had spent the night in the vent rather than take a second chance. But here, with McCree human and shaking in front of him, Hanzo is willing to risk it.

He pulls McCree against him. Face in McCree's neck, arms around McCree's shoulders.

That smell. Nostalgic almost. Stronger here. Hanzo closes his eyes.

"We are going to be okay, Jesse."

McCree shakes in his grip. Muscles working in fits. Like he could come apart from himself. He sighs into Hanzo's hair, fingers in Hanzo's ponytail.

"I...I know they weren't--but I...Hanzo, did...I saw what I did to them."

"Don't think about it," Hanzo says, tightening his grip. McCree is crying.

So be it.

Hanzo turns his chin up, meets McCree's gaze. McCree's eyes are hazel, still too close to the change. Green and brown mixing, swirling. Even as Hanzo watches his eyes seem to change.

"I'm sorry," McCree says. Eyes sliding shut. "Nobody deserves to die like that. Even Talon."

"You are not a monster, Jesse McCree. But you do not get to decide what they deserve. They were men and they are dead now. That is all there is to it."

"You shouldn't be near me either."

"I will take my chances."

"You have any idea what it's takin' me not to eat you right now. Jus' rip your throat out. It'd be so easy, Hanzo. You'd make it so easy."

This is not Jesse McCree talking. These low, rumbled words. The edge to them Hanzo can place all too easily.

McCree sounds like this when they fuck. Something about the pitch and depth of his voice strikes a well-honed nerve in Hanzo.

Arousal.

Combined with that smell; sweet, cloying pheromones.

"What are you doing?" Hanzo asks.

McCree groans, keening note from his nose. "I don't know."

"We have to go home."

"I know." McCree is shivering again, fighting himself. Hanzo can feel the struggle. McCree pressing close against him. Desperate. Conflicting. Who is winning? The wolf? The man? "I know."

"Do you know where the communications room is?"

McCree shakes his head. "Don't remember anything but the men..."

"Is your radio with your clothes?"

"I dunno. Hanzo you should leave me."

Overdramatic.

"I will not leave you."

McCree sinks to the floor. Hand on Hanzo's stomach. Curling in on himself.

"Please, Hanzo. I don't wanna--"

"And you won't." Hanzo pets through McCree's sweaty hair. "Do you remember me last night? Do you remember what I said?"

McCree nods. Shifts on his knees. Hanzo doesn't imagine the stretch he sees in McCree's skin. Bones attempting to sprout where there is no place for them.

Change so close.

A dangerous place.

"Then stop this, Jesse. We don't have time for it. The communications room, will you help me find it?"

McCree's fingers dig against the fabric of Hanzo's uniform. So tight his knuckles have gone white with the pressure.

"Yes," McCree says. "I'll help."

\---

McCree, moon-high and naked, is not much help at all.

Hanzo finds a pair of sweatpants in a locker, holds them out for McCree to wear. They are too small. Too short at the ankle, waist cinching low on McCree's hips.

Too small but better then nothing.

He finds a pack of saltines as well, a cheese ration. Somewhere in the facility there is probably a kitchen, but Hanzo's stomach plays an easy second fiddle to finding a way back to Overwatch.

To keeping both himself and McCree sane and safe for the rest of the night and the day that follows.

He holds a cracker out to McCree but McCree shakes his head.

Odd.

McCree is usually ravenous. During the wax he is a black hole.

McCree seems to catch Hanzo's expression. He looks down at his feet.

"I already feel...full," McCree says.

Horrible.

Flesh between his fangs.

Hanzo eats the crackers. Saves the cheese. He will not dwell on it. It's not worth it, means nothing, in the end.

He keeps searching.

McCree follows at Hanzo's heels. Like a puppy. Mostly silent. Uncharacteristic. Hanzo supposes it makes sense. McCree and the wolf. McCree who is the wolf.

But he seems to retain control over himself. Other than the whines and growls, McCree exhibits no warning signs. In control.

A few hours before the moonrise.

Hanzo just hopes he's found a radio by then.

He isn't looking forward to another night spent in the air vents. But he will do what he has to.

McCree's nose is working overtime.

They wander the halls and meeting rooms and Hanzo watches McCree's nostrils. Flaring.

"What do you smell?" Hanzo asks. Something to say. McCree's silence, necessary as it may be for his peace of mind, is unnerving.

Hanzo smells death, the sharp odor of blood, the deeper, more visceral scent of open entrails.

Lots of bodies.

McCree killed almost all of them.

"I smell you," McCree says. "And me." He scratches his beard. His stump waves in the air. Hanzo wonders if he had been trying to gesture with it. McCree frowns down at his missing arm.

He swallows. "Angie has me fitted with a replacement, usually." He says. He licks his lips. "Remind me never to go on vacation during the full without it, okay, Hanzo?"

His tone is so dry, Hanzo almost misses the fact that it is a joke. McCree grins at him, a little lop-sided. Making a joke. An attempt at his usual self.

"I'll remind you to bring a change of clothes as well, huh? Unless you like running around like that."

McCree chuckles. Closes his eyes like it pains him. "God," he says. "Yeah that's a good idea." He licks his lips again, eyes fluttering open. "You're so good, Hanzo."

"I am not good. Your perspective is just very skewed."

"You mean Genji?"

"I mean a lot of things." Hanzo opens a door, peeks into the room beyond. Pay dirt. A comms console, a computer terminal.

"Guess this is it." McCree says, leaning on the door frame. "Weird they don't keep it locked."

This whole mission has been weird.

One thing after another. Going wrong. Too many guards. The inconvenient timing in finding the base.

Hanzo doesn't believe in this sort of coincidence. His gut rebels against it.

But what can he say? Who can he blame? No proof beyond instinct, coincidences.

Hanzo fiddles with the computer terminal.

McCree moves around behind him.

"Moon's coming up soon," he says. Whispers. Breath against the back of Hanzo's neck. Closer than Hanzo had realized.

Hanzo does not jump. He finishes keying in their coordinates, setting the distress beacon. SOS like some lost ship.

The radio is outdated technology. A Russian model. Hanzo stares at it.

McCree's hand on his hip.

"How long do we have?"

"Maybe an hour."

Rescue will not be here by then. Foolish to even hope.

Better here though, than out in the wilderness surrounding the facility. The Russian wilds.

"Are you scared?" McCree asks, voice pitched low again. "I can hear your heart."

"I'm not scared of you."

"I am."

"I know." Hanzo turns his chin, glancing over his shoulder. McCree's eyes are all pupil. Dark, swallowing voids.

"Can I kiss you?"

Hanzo frowns. This is neither the time nor place. "You do not have to ask."

"I don't want to hurt you."

Then why test it, Hanzo wants to ask. But he doesn't. He leans over enough to catch McCree's lips with his own.

Baiting.

Dangerous instincts.

McCree nips at Hanzo's lips and Hanzo opens to him.

This is not the time.

McCree's hand slips into Hanzo's hair, loosening the tie. He pulls it free. Holds it to his nose. Lips on Hanzo's temple. Scratchy beard and all.

"I should go," McCree says. Sighing.

"Go where?"

He closes his eyes. Opens them. "I can't control it, Hanzo."

The hair under Hanzo's palm is soft and warm. The hair across McCree's chest like fur already. There is a wound on McCree's shoulder, twisted, puckered hole. Bullet wound. Already mostly healed up.

Hanzo steps back.

McCree keeps his hair ribbon. Wraps it, one-handed, around his fist. Quick, deft motions.

"Are you keeping that?"

"D'ya mind?"

Hanzo shakes his head. "If help arrives--"

"They won't. Not tonight. Angie...won't let them come at night, I'm sure of it." McCree bites his lip, looks away.

Hanzo nods, crosses his arms. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I don't know." McCree touches his hair. Smoothes his hands through his bangs. "Will you?"

"I can take care of myself, Jesse. You do not scare me."

"You keep sayin' that."

"Because I mean it. You do not need to go, Jesse. Do not suffer through this alone."

It could be a death sentence.

Maybe that's what it has been this whole time. Courting something so dangerous as McCree. Some misguided attempt at suicide. Twisted atonement for what he has done.

Hanzo doesn't really buy it though.

McCree had not killed him last night.

Mates.

Lovers.

Scents.

Maybe that is why.

McCree stares at him. The computer terminal beeps. Spits a bunch of digits and readings across the screen. Hanzo ignores it.

"D'ya mean it?"

"That I want you to stay?"

"Yeah."

"Yes I do."

McCree has taken up shivering again. "Why?"

Hanzo rolls his head, tipping his chin just slightly. Teeth marks on his neck, fang marks. "You do not scare me. Remember?"

Hanzo will not say it again.

McCree seems to get it. Falls to his knees.

Shaking and twisting.

It looks painful. McCree's body jack-knifing, violent, crashing motions. He growling, groaning.

His hand presses out in front of him. Wrapped in Hanzo's scarf. Elongating.

Changing.

It should be terrifying.

It is anything but.

Phase 8: Full Moon, Day Three; Seven Months

Overwatch agents show up on the third day of the full moon. Mercy and her tranquilizers. Men in full combat gear.

Genji.

Genji hugs Hanzo for a solid minute. Undignified, clingy. Not how they were raised.

If Hanzo squeezes him back, just a little too hard to be trying to pull away, well, nobody notices.

"McCree," Genji asks. Mask tilted toward Hanzo's ear. "Is he--"

"Fine. He is mostly unharmed." Hanzo doesn't offer anything further about it. Will not talk about the second night. McCree the wolf, curled around him. Protective and growling. McCree the wolf, essentially defanged.

"How did you survive?" Mercy asks, on the train ride home.

Hanzo does not know where McCree is. They have not let Hanzo see him since they doped him up. McCree growling and struggling as Mercy put the needle to his skin.

"I don't know," Hanzo answers. Truthfully, he doesn't.

Something about pair-bonding, probably. Their extremely sexual relationship betraying them both, becoming something deeper.

Love.

Though Hanzo will not say it.

"I'm sorry," Mercy says. "We should never have sent him."

"No. You shouldn't have."

She bites her lip. Rubs salve against the marks on his neck. Bruises.

"Is he okay?" Hanzo asks, looking down at his hands.

"McCree?"

Hanzo nods. "Yes."

"A few bullet wounds. Real nasty one on his shoulder. Most of its healed up though. Like I told you, the moon..."

"But is he okay?"

Her turn to look away. Mercy drums her fingers against Hanzo's shoulder. An unconscious action.

"You are to remain in my care, for the rest of the trip. Orders from the top." She narrows her eyes. "If you happen to slip my guard, however, they have McCree being transported in solitary. Four cars back."

"Solitary?"

"His own request."

"He did not ask to see me."

"It's coming up on the third night. I think he is afraid."

McCree is a poster child for guilt and regret. He wears his heart and emotions for all to see. Last night had been fine though. McCree had seemed docile, pacified. Head in Hanzo's lap. Not nearly as restless as the other times Hanzo had seen him.

He should ask Mercy about it. But he won't.

Stubborn.

Selfish.

He wants to keep it to himself.

Mercy turns her back, makes a show of collecting medical supplies from the cabinet above her. Clattering loudly.

Hanzo takes it as his cue.

Slips off the stretcher and into the hall.

The train moves smoothly beneath him, slight vibrations against the arches of his feet. Hanzo heads toward the back. Passes no one on the way.

At the fourth car, he comes upon a guard. If Reinhardt can even be called that. The old man tilts his head as Hanzo approaches. Appraising with his one good eye.

"Figured we'd be seeing you," Reinhardt says with a chuckle. Too loud and booming in the space of the train. Hanzo looks away. "Do not be shy. He said you would come."

"He did?"

"Yah? I think, maybe, he has gotten the point that you are about as stubborn as he is. Even as a child, McCree--" Reinhardt catches himself, waves his hand in front of him. "But you did not come to hear an old man reminisce."

He turns, keys some numbers into the terminal by the door. It slides open.

Some guard.

Some solitary.

Hanzo steps through.

It slides closed behind him, smooth. Mechanical. Hanzo looks at the door, the manual latch on the inside. He throws it for good measure.

McCree is laying on a bed across the room.

Fast asleep.

Or pretending to be.

His nostrils flare, deeper breaths, as Hanzo crosses to him. His eyes open. Brows soft and arched.

They must have found his hat.

It sits, ragged as ever, on the stand next to the bed.

"Hanzo," he says. It could mean a million things.

"Did you expect someone else?"

"Never."

"You did not want to see me?"

McCree closes his eyes. "Just givin' ya space, if you needed it."

"I do not need it." Hanzo smiles, touches McCree's human hand.

The mechanical one lies on the table next to his hat.

Hanzo's ribbon is still around McCree's knuckles. Edges worn down just slightly.

Less dangerous now.

"You did not eat me."

McCree looks away. "Guess I didn't."

The third day.

The come down.

McCree pats the bed and Hanzo sits at the edge of it. McCree moves, curls; head in Hanzo's lap again. Hanzo's hands in his hair.

Innocuous, if they were anyone else. McCree nuzzles against the vee of Hanzo's crotch.

Lustful.

Mercy had said it.

The third day.

"What're you thinkin' about?" McCree asks, grinning up at Hanzo. "I can smell it, y'know. Gettin' worked up."

"Jesse."

McCree groans, turns his head more fully. Raising his hand to drag at Hanzo's waistband. "You want me like this, Hanzo?" McCree asks. Teasing.

It would be a lie if Hanzo said he hadn't thought about it. McCree, edging that line between animal and human.

"Is it different?"

McCree shudders, grunts. "Much."

"Are you...lucid right now?"

"Third day is the worst, told you that. The longing. Christ, I remember every second of wanting you like this. But I'm me, if that's what you mean."

McCree the wolf, McCree the man. All the same. All green brown eyes and teeth. "Then...take it," Hanzo says, breathing. "I'm already yours, Jesse."

"You trust me."

"You would have eaten me by now if I didn't."

McCree pushes at Hanzo's hip. Hanzo rolls with the motion. Helps McCree with the material of his uniform pants. McCree rucks Hanzo's top up, tracing Hanzo's spine. Thumb digging into the knobs of it.

"Maybe I still should. Bet you'd make quite a meal." McCree says. His voice is doing that thing again. Deep, vibrating little fluctuations. Setting Hanzo's nerves on fire.

He won't give McCree the satisfaction of seeing it yet. Spreads his knees so McCree slots up behind him.

"Are you all talk? I would appreciate getting this show on the road before the moon comes out."

McCree chuckles. Throaty. Gravelly. Hand touching the base of Hanzo's back, thumb swiping between his cheeks. McCree's facial hair, rubbing against Hanzo's ass.

"Ready for me?" McCree asks, kissing the skin of Hanzo's back, licking at the dimples there.

Hanzo doesn't know what he means. Is obviously not ready for McCree's cock, not so soon. Not with no prep at all.

But then McCree drops his lips lower, apparently taking Hanzo's silence as an answer and Hanzo gets it. Fingers scrabbling against the sheets. Voice coming out in a harsh, grating choke.

McCree swipes his tongue against Hanzo's ass in arcs. Has Hanzo babbling by the second lick. Messy, wet stripes.

"You shouldn't--it's filthy," Hanzo pants. But he's spreading his legs wider still, fucking back against McCree's grip on him.

"You tellin' me you surprised by this?" McCree kisses Hanzo's left ass cheek, his right. "Thought you knew what a rotten pervert I was."

Hanzo doesn't answer.

Can't.

McCree gets back to work and Hanzo melts into the mattress. Thighs shaking from holding his weight, shoulders slumped.

It feels like it goes on for hours. McCree licking and teasing and fingering Hanzo open. Hanzo moves his head, hair across his forehead, sticking with his sweat. The bed spread is soaked. He shifts his hips, looks down himself. The way his cock curls against the bed, red and thick. A drop of precome pearling at the tip.

McCree hums against Hanzo's entrance and Hanzo drops his weight again. The wet heat of McCree's mouth against him is maddening. Hanzo knows he is not being quiet, grunting and hissing as McCree's fucks him with his tongue.

Lost in the pleasured haze of it.

He touches his own cock, fingering through the sticky mess at the head.

"Don't, darlin'," McCree gasps. Hand leaving Hanzo's ass to grab at Hanzo's fingers. Bringing them to his mouth to kick the slick off them. "Want you to come with me. Think you're ready for me?"

More than.

Hanzo nods, weakly. Hand falling from McCree's grasp to tangle in the sheets again.

"It's gonna be different."

McCree has already said this.

But he is not lying.

He feels bigger, pressing into Hanzo from behind. Improbable, of course, McCree has a big, impressive dick.

But it feels longer, thicker as it works inside. McCree moving in tiny little thrusts. Whining against the back of Hanzo's neck.

"Feel okay still, baby?"

Hanzo swallows. Nods. Full. Exceedingly full.

He presses his hand against his abdomen, just above his cock. The normally smooth expanse of muscle just under his stomach. McCree slides deeper, a final, guttural groan. His hand joins Hanzo's. Exploring the skin of Hanzo's belly. The press of McCree's erection just noticeable from the outside.

"Shit, darlin'. Oh fuck," McCree pants. "Never...God, I've never..."

Hanzo rolls his hips, not quite adjusted, but greedy. He wants it. Being on edge for what feels like hours has him impatient.

"Just...please. Jesse. I can take you. Fuck me, Jesse."

McCree groans, nips the skin of Hanzo's shoulder blades. Lightly. His teeth like needles. Different.

He rolls his hips, though there is hardly deeper for him to go. He pulls out to the tip, shoves back in. A touch too rough, Hanzo swears and moans.

This is what he wants.

That danger.

He's never felt safer.

McCree seems to get the message, adjusts his legs so he's thrusting at a different angle, torso upright instead of draped across Hanzo's back. Hand braces on Hanzo's hip. Nails digging into the skin.

Hanzo grabs at his own dick. McCree doesn't stop him this time. Hanzo jerks himself off. Grip sliding roughly, out of synch with McCree's hard work.

But Hanzo doesn't care.

He's worked up enough, all it takes is a few strokes, a twist against the head of his cock, his other hand feeling McCree's bulge in his abdomen.

Too fucking big.

Hanzo is done.

He grunts once, comes all over his hand and the sheets.

Body tightening around McCree like a vice.

McCree yelps, groaning. Thrusts twice more, quick, jabbing little movements. Then he's swelling, coming, but not softening.

Hanzo opens his eyes. Blinks.

McCree is still within him, still hard. A blunt pressure on his insides. Too full.

"Sorry," McCree is saying, kissing the back of his neck. "Probably should have warned you about that."

He shifts his hips. Still lodged deep. Hanzo groans, bites his lip.

Knotted like a bitch.

Taken like an animal.

McCree nuzzles against his shoulder, follows the line of it to the side of Hanzo's throat. Kisses Hanzo's cheek.

Hanzo sighs, tilts his head to kiss McCree back.

Filthy animals the pair of them.

"Can we move? You are heavy," Hanzo says.

McCree shifts their weight; impressive one-handed, though Hanzo will not say so. They land on their sides, Hanzo cradled to McCree's chest. Still connected.

Hanzo squeezes the muscles in his ass against the intrusion. Partly to hear McCree groan against him. Fucked out but still sensitive. The feeling of being so full is so foreign, addictive. Hanzo closes his eyes.

"I'm sorry," McCree says. "For draggin' you into all this. I know it's..."

"Weird," Hanzo provides when McCree trails off.

"Yeah."

"Unfortunate that." Hanzo leans back, one hand tracing down McCree's side. The lines of his obliques against Hanzo's calloused fingers.

McCree smiles. Pushes into the touch.

"Yeah," he says. "Unfortunate."

Below them, the train glides across the tack. The mechanical hum of the engine around them. Hanzo leans his head back, closes his eyes.

Lovers.

The word doesn't sound so dangerous any more.

Lovers.

That is always what this has been.

**Author's Note:**

> And there we have it.
> 
> I wanted this written and posted by Halloween buuuuut it didn't happen. Too much smut kept happening
> 
> Question: why do I have an obsession with trains???
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all liked it!
> 
> Questions comments concerns leave me a comment or come talk to me on tumblr @vrunkas
> 
> Next time, kiddos


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